"Oh, my rest-cure doesn't matter; being with you all at Cedarledge will be the best kind of rest." His obvious solicitude for her was more soothing than any medicine, more magical even than Alvah Loft's silent communion. Perhaps the one thing she had lacked, in all these years, was to feel that some one was worrying about her as she worried about the universe. "It's awfully unselfish of you, Pauline. But running a big house is never restful. Nona will give up Asheville and come to Cedarledge to look after us; you mustn't change your plans." She smiled a little. "But I _must_, dear; because I'd meant to go to Dawnside, and now, of course, in any case--" Manford stood up and went and leaned against the chimney-piece. "Well, that will be all right," he said. "All right?" He was absently turning about in his hand a little bronze statuette. "Yes. If you think the fellow does you good. I've been thinking over what you said the other day; and I've decided to advise the Lindons not to act ... too precipitately..." He coughed and put the statuette back on the mantelshelf. "They've abandoned the idea..." "Oh, Dexter--" She started to her feet, her eyes brimming. He had actually thought over what she had said to him--when, at the time, he had seemed so obdurate and sneering! Her heart trembled with a happy wonder in which love and satisfied vanity were subtly mingled. Perhaps, after all, what her life had really needed was something much simpler than all the complicated things she had put into it. "I'm so glad," she murmured, not knowing what else to say. She wanted to hold out her arms, to win from him some answering gesture. But he was already glancing at his watch. "That's all right. Jove, though--we'll be late for dinner... Opera afterward, isn't there?" The door closed on him. For a moment or two she stood still, awed by the sense of some strange presence in the room, something as fresh and strong as a spring gale. It must be happiness, she thought. XII "YES; this morning I think you _can_ see her. She seems ever so much better; not in such a fearful hurry, I mean." Pauline, from her dressing-room, overheard Maisie Bruss. She smiled at the description of herself, sent a thought of gratitude to Alvah Loft, and called out: "Is that Nona? I'll be there in a minute. Just finishing my exercises..." She appeared, fresh and tingling, draped in a restful dove-coloured wrapper, and offered Nona a smooth cheek. Miss Bruss had vanished, and mother and daughter had to themselves the sunny room, full of flowers and the scent of a wood-fire. "How wonderful you look, mother! All made over. Have you been trying some new exercises?" Pauline smiled and pulled up the soft eiderdown coverlet at the foot of her lounge. She sank comfortably back among her cushions. "No, dear: it's just--understanding a little better, I think." "Understanding?" "Yes; that things _always_ come out right if one just keeps on being brave and trustful."